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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226855">imprisonment</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftingslightly/pseuds/shiftingslightly'>shiftingslightly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FebuWhump 2021 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Era, FebuWhump2021, I cannot tag, Imprisonment, M/M, One Shot, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:26:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftingslightly/pseuds/shiftingslightly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander is captured by the British. He keeps his mouth shut, doesn't tell them anything. By the time he's rescued, he doesn't have any willpower left to keep him from telling Washington his own personal secret. </p><p>For FebuWhump 2021</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/George Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>FebuWhump 2021 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>febuwhump 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>imprisonment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 3: Imprisonment</p><p>This is late, I know, I'm sorry! I actually found out about FebuWhump on the 2nd and I had to do some research for the fic and because I didn't know what whump was (still not sure if I did it right) but uh hope you enjoy! cw for descriptions of getting beaten up, not too graphic but i added a warning just in case.</p><p>sorry about the title, too, i put all my creative work into the fic and i can't tag or title apparently lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Alexander begins to regain consciousness, the first thing he notices is that he can’t see- there's a black cloth wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. Certain that this is not some sort of prank, especially not something his friends would pull in the middle of a war, he gets up slowly, feeling the wall he’d been propped up against. It’s plaster,  the kind of wall that you’d find in a family home. Odd.</p><p> </p><p>He parses his memory. All he comes up with is getting into his cot and actually trying to sleep for once instead of working some more. <em> And look where it got me, </em> he thinks dryly. <em> I’m never sleeping again. </em></p><p> </p><p>A door creaks open and then slams shut. “Well, well, well,” a man’s voice says. It’s somehow oily, if a voice could be oily, and Alexander cringes away from the source. “Look what we have here,” he continues. “Washington’s little pet.” Alex’s first, panicked thought is <em> how does he know? </em>, and then he realizes this man cannot possibly know just how deep his affection for his commander runs. Besides (and much to his chagrin), it’s not like Washington’s ever done anything about it, no matter how certain Alexander is that his feelings are reciprocated. He’s too virtuous, Alex often thinks. But then again, he’d never have him any other way.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop smiling,” the man snaps. Alexander instinctively smiles harder, grinning and exposing his teeth in a mocking Cheshire-cat-like expression. That was a mistake, he notes a second later as the stranger slaps him hard, expression scrunching up as the stinging pain spreads across his cheek. It’s not so much a sudden, sharp pricking of pain as it is a million little needles poking at him at the point of contact, almost tingling. He observes this all with an odd sort of detachment, absentmindedly rubbing at his cheek as the person withdraws. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you done messing around?” the man growls, and suddenly it all comes back into focus and Alexander is very, very aware that he’s likely not in friendly hands. Which means he’s a prisoner. He supposes it could have been worse- he’s not on one of those prison ships, which would practically guarantee his slow, inglorious, practically unnoticed death by sickness or suffocation- but even so, this is a situation in which he should tread carefully.</p><p> </p><p>So he tilts his chin up and nods, not saying a word. “Good boy,” the man sneers, and Alexander has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something. “Now. What do you know about where you're going next? Your plans?”</p><p>This time Alexander can’t help himself, snorting, “you really aren’t a subtle one, are you?” </p><p>His cheek is still smarting from the first hit, and it hurts even more when the man backhands him across the face, bony knuckles knocking into soft flesh. </p><p>“None of that. Tell me, now.” Alexander gives him the best incredulous look he can manage from behind a blindfold.</p><p>“Bitch, I’m not telling you,” he says. The next thing he knows there’s a fist connecting with his stinging cheek, adding to the pain. He groans as his head jerks sideways and knuckles connect with his jaw, knocking his teeth together. He can feel it practically in his bones, dull throbs reverberating through his skull, and it <em> hurts </em>. Still, he clamps his mouth shut, stubborn.</p><p> </p><p>“So that’s how you’re playing it,” the man says. “Well. I can’t say I expected less.” A punch to his stomach, knocking the breath out of him as he leans forward, doubling over and wrapping his arms around himself. The man laughs. Shoves him onto the ground. He manages to catch himself, but the floor is hard, and he can almost feel the bruises forming on his palms. A foot comes down harsh on his back, slamming his stomach onto the ground. He thinks he might be screaming. Another kick to the face. If there wasn’t blood before, now it comes streaming out of his nose and he isn’t sure why he isn’t feeling any pain there until it comes rushing in, sharp and insistent and <em> oh god </em>it hurts. So bad. </p><p> </p><p>“I could do this for hours,” the man says nonchalantly. Kicks him again. “Exactly six hours, in fact. If you don’t crack by then, well, bye-bye to you, we’ll just drag John Laurens in here and do the exact same thing. How’s that sound? Hm? You gonna die for nothing and let your buddy die too?” Alex gasps, trying to breathe through the fog of pain. No. No. Not John. Anyone but John. Anyone but John and- “Or maybe that dear Marquis,” the man continues, light and cheerful as he shoves his boot into Alex’s stomach. “Do you think he’d talk? I would hate to ruin that pretty face, of course, but you know, we all make sacrifices in war.” Alexander wants to scream. Familiar rage comes rushing in. This stupid Loyalist knows <em> nothing </em> of sacrifice. <em> Nothing. </em> </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck- you,” he manages through gritted teeth. Instead of snarling at him or yelling, the man just chuckles, and somehow that’s worse, the icy edge of the sound digging into him. </p><p>“Oh my, oh my. I was expecting Washington’s right-hand man would be smarter. But then again, perhaps it wasn’t exactly your wits that got you to where you are,” he says. Another harsh kick accompanies the blow to his pride. “Not denying it? Hm. What a whore,” he continues, tone as light as if he were carrying a nice conversation with a casual acquaintance. Alexander writhes on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re actually quite lucky, you know,” the man says. “I wanted to bring out the knives. Arnold wouldn’t have that, though, says it’ll be better to have some physical proof that you’ve been in pain.” Alex inhales sharply. What? <em> Arnold </em> as in <em> Benedict Arnold </em> ? “Ah yes, that’s right! How delightful. You still don’t know about dear Benedict!” the man says cheerfully. “Well, he’s ours. I’m surprised you hadn’t figured that out by now. But then again, of course, you know nothing about us. Yet we-” his tone drops significantly, and he leans down to Alex’s ear- “know <em> everything. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>He’s rescued, of course. He holds a high position and someone was bound to notice his absence fairly quickly, and put the pieces together. But it’s not quick enough to stop him from accumulating bruises all over his body, purpling up around the edges and reminding him of his pain with even the slightest pressure. His nose is broken, and there’s blood all over his face, and he’s spent the past five hours taunted and tortured. He thinks he might have a broken arm, but he’s not sure. They put him on Washington’s bed, presumably because it’s one of the only ones that actually have a mattress and it’s isolated, and he drifts off, glad for the escape from his own hurting body.</p><p> </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>They bring Alexander in. Washington is immensely worried, and clearly not in any state to make any sort of decisions, and Lafayette, seeing this, immediately takes charge (bless him). He’s very capable, and Washington trusts him. He sighs. He should have seen this coming. No matter how much they put on an air of bravado and condescension towards the revolution, the British know they’re in a bad place. They’re getting desperate. He should have anticipated they’d make a move like this. </p><p> </p><p>He looks at Alexander again from his seat at his desk. He would look almost peaceful, if it weren’t for the smattering of purpling bruises across his face. Washington shakes his head, trying to quell the surge of protectiveness he feels at the sight of his boy so hurt. He still hasn’t woken up.</p><p> </p><p>It gets late, but Washington stays up, kept company by his own persistent thoughts. He should have done something. There must have been some way to prevent this, some sign that he’d missed. </p><p> </p><p>“George,” he hears. He whirls around. Alexander is smiling at him, more pained grimace than happy expression. He’s never called him that before. Washington decides he likes it. “George. I need to-” he breaks into a round of coughing. </p><p>Washington is at his side instantly. “What is it?” </p><p>“Arnold,” he manages to get out in between coughs. “Be- Benedict Arnold- traitor-” </p><p>Washington is more worried about Alexander. “Okay,” he says, because Alexander is trying to emphasize his point and it’s worsening his coughing. “Okay. I believe you.” If Arnold is a traitor- and he surely is, because his Alexander would not lie about these things- he must be dealt with. He writes a quick letter and gives it to Lafayette, who is just downstairs. He will handle it. </p><p> </p><p>“Alex. Alexander. It’s okay,” he says. Alexander is still trying to speak. “It’s alright.” He shakes his head fervently. </p><p>“No-” he manages, although his voice is hoarse and rough- “no- one more- one more thing- I-” He stops. “M’- gonna- sleep- but-”</p><p>“Alexander. Just sleep. It’s okay.”</p><p>Alexander shakes his head, evidently holding something back. Washington waits patiently.</p><p>“I- I love you,” he blurts. </p><p>Washington answers without hesitation, almost on impulse.</p><p>“I love you too.” </p><p>Alexander seems to deflate, as if that was the only thing keeping him hanging on. “M’ sorry,” he mutters. </p><p><em> What are you sorry for?  </em>“Don’t be sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>~~</p><p> </p><p>Alexander recovers fairly quickly. Lafayette is grateful, although he cannot help but note that he still limps, and winces if someone bumps into him too hard. He worries, of course, but nothing in the world could separate Alexander Hamilton from his work except physical restraints, no matter how much his friends might try to dissuade him. </p><p> </p><p>There’s other changes, too. He seems much more protective of Lafayette and John, taking to following them and always inquiring as to where they are, and panicking when he doesn’t receive a definitive answer. John jokes that it’s like having a guard chihuahua, but both of them make sure to stay within Alexander’s sight whenever possible.</p><p> </p><p>The biggest change, however, lies in Alexander’s relationship with their general. John is not particularly perceptive, and thus continues unaware, but Lafayette has spent his whole life observing and taking invisible cues in order to insert himself in the right places and charm the right people, and he sees it almost as clear as if it were written in bold for him to read, so glaringly obvious in the way Washington pulls him closer when they’re not in public, the way Alexander leans into him, the glances they share from across the room, heavy with intimacy and care. </p><p> </p><p>Even so, even with it laid out in front of him, he turns away, covers his eyes. Maintains plausible deniability. What those two have is fragile, new, and he won’t ruin the new happy spark in his friend’s eyes when his general is mentioned. </p><p> </p><p>So when a month goes by, when Alexander is healed enough for more exerting physical activities, when he passes Washington’s door late at night and hears them whispering together, tender and affectionate in the privacy of Washington’s office, he blocks it out, walks right on by, hopes Alexander knows what he’s doing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what'd you think? please comment? they absolutely make my day i swear. hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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